


A Tale for Cautious Women

by Artemis1000



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Pining, Playing the Great Game, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-08 08:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis1000/pseuds/Artemis1000
Summary: Sentimentality is no way to make politics but every now and then the stars align just right to give you a chance at both.Anora, Vivienne and the cautious discovery that love can be found where you least expect it.





	A Tale for Cautious Women

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tafka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tafka/gifts).

The first time she meets her, Anora’s scrutiny is as damning as her cold, brittle tone as she sits on her throne and declares, “You are not what I had expected.”

Unlike most people, Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard, neither cowers nor flinches under Anora’s royal condemnation. She looks, in fact, utterly unfazed. “I would hope so, my dear,” she says mildly.

It is Anora who budges first, a brow arched in faint acknowledgment.

It is Vivienne who speaks to her with respect none of the watchful, disapproving nobles could twist into something offensive, yet speaks as if she has come to do Anora a favor rather than asking for one for her Circle. Vivienne, Anora is quickly learning, is not someone who asks for favors.

Anora can respect that, even as her hands tighten on the armrests of her throne, incensed by her sheer audacity. She can be enraged and impressed by it all at once.

The next time she sees Vivienne, Ferelden is being torn apart by war and she has about had it with mages.

“If you have come to ask for leniency, don’t waste your time. It will not be granted,” she tells Vivienne as soon as she seeks her out at Redcliffe. It’s not even been an hour since Anora condemned Grand Enchanter Fiona and her traitorous snakes to whatever fate may await them as long as it won’t be in Ferelden.

“At times, leniency carefully applied can be a strength,” Vivienne notes. She looks uncowed as usual by the warning, standing tall and proud and as resplendent as if she were a queen herself in her fine Orlesian robes. She has the bearing of a queen, too.

Anora turns from her silent seething and counting of her mistakes to grant her the full attention she warrants.

“But that is not what I am here for.”

Still, Anora waits, chin lifted in silent demand.

Vivienne continues to look unimpressed, though Anora could have sworn there is a hint of appreciation glinting in her eyes as she lets her eyes wander over the curve of Anora’s stubborn jaw. “There will be an alliance between the Inquisition and Fiona’s mages. I would caution you against extending your anger with Fiona to the entire Inquisition.”

The _audacity_. “You would caution me,” she echoes blandly, more than a little impressed with her own restraint. None of the outrage she feels shows in her voice. “Ought you not be cautioning the Orlesian court, First Enchanter?” She purses her lips. “Or is it true, and you have been replaced?”

It’s petty and not something Anora is proud of, even as the words leave her mouth. But how dare she?

If she had hoped for hurt or anger, she is disappointed once more. A strange melancholy flickers over Vivienne’s face, an expression Anora knows all too well from the mirror. The things that should have been, if only your plans had worked out a little better, a little faster, if things hadn’t spun quite so completely out of control. It is the face that had looked at her in the mirror when she decided to travel to Redcliffe and rescind the asylum offered.

“How curious,” Vivienne notes once she has shaken herself free of this mood – it had lasted mere seconds, as befit a true master of The Game. “You take more offense to my Orlesian connections than to me being a mage.” She looks faintly amused, maybe, or, Anora assumes, as close to amused as she would let herself come to showing anything so base.

Anora, for her part, finds herself feeling a little too frayed at the edges to continue their games. “Mages have been known to keep their word at times. Orlesians never have.”

Vivienne studies her for long moments. “What quaint notions you have, my dear.” She continues to look amused.

The next time they meet, the war is still ongoing and Anora has not shunned friendship with the Inquisition.

They are allies now, or on the way to something akin to it. Vivienne has arrived in Denerim with Ambassador Montilyet’s best aides to ensure friendly missives will be turned into legally binding contracts. She knows that Vivienne has only just lost Duke Bastien and assumes she is here to distract herself with work but at this point in time, it means little to her and Vivienne wouldn’t appreciate polite sympathy anyway.

Anora knows she ought to be infuriated by Madame de Fer’s everything, yet she finds herself seeking her out when negotiations are done and staying once the socializing demanded by common courtesy has been fulfilled.

Vivienne, Anora is pleased to learn, has very distinct visions for the future she wishes to build once the Inquisition and Corypheus are done. They both believe in stability, they both see a need for change in Thedas but wish to see this change controlled and carefully measured – carefully guided by capable hands such as their own, the only hands they can trust in such troubled times.

She had been ready to wash her hands of the affairs of mages after the disaster with Fiona but there is something captivating in listening to Vivienne speak.

Hesitantly, reluctantly at first, Anora speaks of her own efforts to bring change to Kinloch Hold, of the promise she had made to a dead Warden and how very little had come out of it despite her best honest efforts.

“How curious you should seek my support now,” she muses one evening after they have spent a very pleasant evening speaking mostly of things of little consequence. It has been a while since Anora enjoyed anyone’s company enough to talk to them simply for the pleasure of sharing in their thoughts and the timbre of their voice, no political necessities or concerns of politeness due.

Vivienne takes her sweet time, studying the way the candlelight is reflected in her glass of wine. She sits relaxed in the armchair facing Anora’s, yet there is still a poised elegance to her which Anora has come to learn is not put upon but must be natural or at least habitual. She smiles. These days, there is warmth to her smiles, at least when they are alone. “We all need friends.”

Anora sips on her own wine and mulls on it for a moment longer before she nods. She meets Vivienne’s eyes. “We do.”

Unlike the promises between the Inquisition and Ferelden, the ones between Vivienne and Anora don’t need to be put down in writing.

When Vivienne returns to Skyhold, Anora doesn’t even pretend to be surprised that her heart aches to see her go, or that on many once-more lonely evenings, her eyes linger wistfully on the armchair she had come to think of as Vivienne’s.

It is foolish, she knows, to miss something you never had.

It is even more foolish, she suspects, when you don’t even know if the one you miss thinks of you at all.

The first letter from Skyhold clears up this doubt, at least.

Letters take the place of their evenings in front of the fire, yet they can’t replace them. Still, the tone of their letters grows more familiar with each one exchanged, until all without her permission such fondness, then longing has snuck in between the lines that Vivienne can impossibly have missed it. She would feel more foolish if she couldn’t read something quite similar in Vivienne’s letters.

With each letter lovingly added to the tiny, elaborately carved wooden chest she had been gifted by Vivienne, it feels like an empty place in her heart is filling up a little more, too.

She both dreads and yearns for the day it will be filled to the brim.

“Your Majesty.”

“First Enchanter.”

They observe another for a moment, Anora on her throne and Vivienne standing in front of it with confidence as no supplicant ever would; then Anora startles her courtiers by standing up and joining her at the foot of the dais.

“My friend,” she says and reaches for Vivienne’s hands, for a hug would be wholly inappropriate.

Her fingers are soft and warm and it isn’t until she is cradling Vivienne’s hands in her own that Anora realizes, this is the first time they are deliberately touching. A brush of hands or arms in passing, yes, but it had never been quite so purposeful. A thrill runs through her as if the innocuous touch were something tantalizingly, outrageously forbidden. If Anora had any less self-control her cheeks would certainly be turning pink by now from embarrassment at her own silly notions.

Vivienne holds on a little longer than need be and maybe it is just Anora, but she could swear she is as reluctant to let go as Anora herself.

“It is good to be back,” Vivienne says and she sounds like she means it. Anora chooses to believe her.

The palace gardens in Denerim are nothing like what Anora imagines the gardens in Val Royeaux to be yet much to her surprise, Vivienne has never sneered nor complained – today is no exception.

They walk slowly, just the two of them. They are protected by twilight from the curious eyes of the court and with a mage of Vivienne’s skill at her side, Anora did not hesitate to relieve her guards.

Conversation comes easily, picking up threads from their correspondence and speaking of matters too small and trivial to waste parchment on. It feels like their evenings in front of the fire have returned, only now they walk closer and Anora still remembers how Vivienne’s hands had felt in her own. Their hands have since brushed five times since, each leaving Anora with another secret thrill.

“They say you might be elected Divine,” Anora finally mentions when her curiosity will no longer be contained. She watches Vivienne from the corner of her eyes. She would look magnificent on the Sunburst Throne, Anora decides. Then again, Anora is beginning to suspect she might be ever so slightly biased. Her lips curl into a sly little smile. “Then I would be the supplicant coming to you.”

Vivienne gives her an incredulous look that holds no ice but rather fond warmth. “Don’t be ridiculous. You would never be a supplicant, no more than I am.”

“But would I be a welcome guest?”

Vivienne leads her to a pergola shaded by rose bushes, perfectly protected from prying eyes.

“Sentimentality is no way to make politics,” she cautions, standing tall, a little bit taller than Anora, and so close that the flaring hem of her robes is touching Anora’s skirt.

“Of course not,” Anora scoffs. This time, her cheeks are indeed staining pink.

“But sometimes sentimentality and politics align in fortuitous ways,” Vivienne offers, and probably for the first time since Anora has known her, she studies Anora with more hope than confidence written on her beautiful, regal face.

Anora feels something unfurl within her, tension abate, and she smiles. “Sometimes they do,” she agrees, voice pitched to a whisper. “Sometimes they align just so; and we can find little pieces of happiness without sacrificing what matters most to us.”

Vivienne’s eyes drop to Anora’s lips. “It would be negligent to…”

As astute as her observation may have been, Anora doesn’t care one whit that she doesn’t get to finish it before their lips meet halfway.

Anora makes a needy little whining noise at the back of her throat and Vivienne’s hand cradles the back of her head, holding her close. Their lips part, tongues brushing and tasting and exploring. Anora’s hands settle on Vivienne, one on her hip and the other on her back. Their kiss is as carefully measured as every step they have taken towards another. They are cautious women even in their passion but Anora knows she wouldn’t want it any other way. They have both fought too hard to be where and what they are now to risk it for reckless passions - but not all passion is reckless or selfish. Sometimes, even women like them are allowed to have something for themselves.

There is only a hint of a smile on Vivienne’s lips when they part but it shines brightly in her eyes and in the warmth of her voice when she murmurs, “It would be negligent indeed to waste such good fortune.”

“It would,” Anora agrees and kisses her again.

Anora does not know what the future will bring or if there can be a future for them at all – there is still a war to be won and an election to be had and at the end of the day, all their lives are in the Maker’s hand. But for now, she lets herself drown in Vivienne’s kiss and the future strikes her like tomorrow’s concern.


End file.
